


The Queen of Diamonds

by swinganditsgone



Category: A League of Their Own (1992)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Baseball, Constructive Criticism Welcome, F/M, Gen, How Do I Tag, My First Fanfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-16 15:03:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17551913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swinganditsgone/pseuds/swinganditsgone
Summary: Dottie and Kit Keller are two sisters living in Oregon in 1943, with Dottie determined to be the good older daughter who stays grounded, and Kit chasing after a dream no one thinks she can achieve. When they join the first female professional baseball league, they have to try and make a name for themselves and the other girls in an effort to save the league amidst their growing rivalry. Throw in a drunken manager and numerous drama and antics from all involved, and the two are in for a wild ride that neither will ever forget.





	1. Chapter 1

It was hot out, the afternoon sun beating down on everyone gathered around the sole baseball diamond in Williamette. There hadn’t been any rain lately, and while the grass was still a vibrant green, the sandy dirt kicked up dust every time somebody took a step, or a car went driving by, billowing behind the rubber wheels or gathering on everyone’s shoes. There was the sound of birds chirping every once in a while, but even they didn’t dare venture out of the cool canopies of the trees.

The game was starting to get interesting, and the hoots and hollers from the small crowd were beginning to pick up with each pitch and swing of a bat. It was a close game, and depending on how the girls in their dusty white and blue Lukash Dairy uniforms did with these next few batters, they could decide who won or lost. Them, or the opposing team. One swing of the bat could decide the entire fate of the game. Baseball always had a way of doing that to you. It could bring you up just as quickly as it could knock you down.

Dottie glanced away from a particularly loud gentleman in the crowd, focusing her attention on Debra, who was up to bat. Several members of the crowd had taken to leaning against the chain-link fencing, fingers clutching at the abused metal in their barely-contained anticipation to the game’s ending. The scattering of beer bottles probably didn’t help either, the men desperate to alleviate their thirst in the heat. However, there was a noticeable lack of young men in the crowd. Not that large sums of people showed up to watch women’s softball in the first place.

Kit was next in the batting order, standing off to the side. Her vibrant red hair shone in the sunlight from underneath her blue hat. She held two bats in her hands, giving them several test swings, trying to get her arms used to the extra weight. Dottie nibbled on her lip upon seeing which bat Kit had grabbed from the assortment of wood leaning against the fence. Kit paid her no mind, or anyone else around her, for that matter. Her attention was only on Debra and the opposing team’s pitcher.

The pitcher threw the ball in a fastpitch manner, the closest thing to men’s baseball as they could get. Debra swung, but the sound of the ball hitting leather, and the swoosh of the bat cutting through empty air, was all that could be heard.

“Strike two!” the umpire bellowed, holding up two fingers.

The catcher casually threw the ball back to her pitcher. Her dark hair was pulled up underneath her maroon ball cap in a bun. She stood up straight, getting in position for a throw Dottie had seen numerous times throughout the game. With her black long-sleeves crawling down her arms from underneath her shirt, Dottie had to wonder how the poor girl hadn’t yet collapsed from the unnaturally hot spring day. A quick rotation of her arm, and she released the ball.

A swing and a miss.

“Strike three!”

Debra hung her head in disappointment. Two Lukash runners stood expectantly on third and second. All they needed was one good hit, and the game was theirs. Debra tossed the bat over her shoulder as she walked off home plate and back to the bench, passing by Kit.

Kit placed one of the bats down in the dirt and started to make her way towards the plate. Dottie jogged after her. She had at least somewhat hoped that Kit would choose a different bat last minute.

“Kit! Kit!”

Kit paused and turned to look at Dottie making her way over. Dottie stopped a pace in front of her, resting a supportive hand on her shoulder. She smiled. “She’s getting everybody out high. Don’t swing at that pitch, okay?”

Kit scrunched up her brow. “I can hit it.”

Dottie gestured over to the pitcher. “You can’t,” she tried reasoning.

Kit ignored her, as she often tended to do, even if Dottie had her best interest in mind, and took several steps away. Dottie reached her arm out and grabbed the bat, managing to easily pry it from Kit’s grasp due to the suddenness of the gesture.

“Kit, this bat’s too heavy.” She turned to go put it back. “You’re never gonna get it around.”

Kit took several quick steps towards her and snatched back the piece of wood. “I will!”

The glare Kit shot her made Dottie pause. Maybe she was hovering too much. She knew her sister had a quick temper, and the heat and Dottie’s nagging probably wasn’t helping. 

“Kit,” Dottie called in a last ditch effort to try and get back in Kit’s good graces. She ducked her head, glancing around. “There’s a big hole on the right side.”

Kit’s face smoothed over, and she turned her head to look. “Don’t look.” She focused back on Dottie. “Unless she pitches inside, pull it.”

Kit’s forehead creased in irritation. Her jaw tensed. “I know,” she bit out.

The umpire had taken his face mask off. The light blue button-up shirt he wore was starting to grow dark around his armpits and neck area. Sweat beaded on his face, collecting around the black hat he wore. “Batter up,” he said, exasperated at the Keller sisters’ interaction.

Kit made her way over to the plate.

“No high ones,” Dottie reminded her, placing a hand in front of her mouth so that none of the other team saw. She looked out towards the field, eyeing the open space in the outfield.  
Kit whipped around, still stalking towards the catcher and ump. Her hair flew around her face. Pale blue eyes shot daggers at her sister. “I like the high ones!”

“Mule!” Dottie called out, somewhat irritated at Kit’s stubborn nature and inability to listen.

“Nag!”

Kit stepped up to the left side of the plate. She dug her cleats into the dirt, wiggling her feet around slightly, trying to find that comfortable footing. 

“Come on, Kit. Keep your eye on the ball.”

Dottie looked over towards the stands. Mitch Swaley stood in front of the crowd seating, moving to rest his hands against the fencing, long thin fingers curling. She and Kit had known Mitch since they were kids. He wasn’t the most handsome man Williamette had to offer, and he wasn’t always the most hygienic, but when he’d finally hit puberty and realized girls had more to offer than just cooties, he had quickly proven how head-over-heels he was for Kit. In fact, Kit could probably do a lot worse than Mitch. He was always trying to prove to her that he could do good by her. Dottie had to take some pity on the young man, though. Kit hadn’t shown an inkling of interest in Mitch as he had for her little sister.

Once she positioned her feet to where she wanted them, Kit raised the bat. Her arms strained against the extra weight. She grit her teeth, refusing to let anyone know how uncomfortable she was. Especially Dottie. She took a couple slow practice swings, trying to get a feel for the added weight again. Finally somewhat content, she raised it above her head, bending her knees, back straight. With a nod from the catcher, the pitcher shifted her weight, her right shoulder dropping in a form she’s spent hours practicing. The ball left her hand. Kit swung the bat around her body. Nothing. The momentum of the swing, and the new weight, caught her off guard and she stumbled forward slightly, off balanced.

“Strike one!”

A small number of people in the crowd clapped in support of the grey and maroon team. Dottie watched the exchange carefully, picking up two bats in her hands and swinging them around, just like how Kit had done before her. She was the next batter in line if Kit didn’t manage to make any plays with the next couple pitches. Happy with her chosen weapon, Dottie tossed the other bat off to the side. It clunked as it made contact with the other girls’ bats. 

Huffing, Kit got back in position, taking another couple practice swings. Her face was pinched tight in concentration. Dottie could feel the frustration coming off of Kit in waves by the bench as she missed the next pitch.

“Strike two!”

Kit looked over at Dottie. Catching Kit’s gaze, she raised her hand above her head, shaking her head. “Too high,” she mouthed.

Some say you have to decide whether to swing or not before the ball ever leave’s the pitcher’s hand. Maybe there was some truth in that statement. But it took skill to be able to read a pitcher, one that required hours upon hours of practice and playing. Especially when the pitcher knew what they were doing. When just starting out, a new pitcher couldn’t control the ball in the way they want to. But a pitcher who’s had years of experience could decide the type of pitch they wanted. And they tried to make themselves as unreadable as possible.

“All right, Kit,” someone from the crowd cheered. “C’mon, look it over. Look it over there!”

The pitcher got in position, her face a stony mask. Kit stood steadfast, waiting for the high pitch. She hoped for the umpire to call a ball. She knew as the ball careened toward her that she had made the wrong decision. The ball sailed right down the middle and landed in the catcher’s glove, the bat never leaving its spot above Kit’s shoulder. She groaned and lowered the bat to rest on her shoulder, her arms no longer able to hold it comfortably, shaking slightly.

“Strike three,” the umpire called, jerking his arm back over his shoulder to signal she was out.

Jeers erupted from the crowd as the catcher got rid of the ball. Several people chuckled. A loud laugh came from the stands. Kit forced herself off the plate, her feet carrying her back to the bench, head down, where the rest of her Lukash teammates waited. The bat hung at her side.

“All right, two out, everybody,” the catcher shouted to her teammates. “That’s two away!”

Kit threw her bat at the fence angrily and it bounced off the protective barrier keeping the crowd safe, landing in the small pile of bats on the ground. Dottie could hear the cheers and jeers molding into a mess as Kit walked off. She ignored her sister as they passed by each other, trying to focus on the task at hand. 

“Come on, Dottie!”

“Knock it out of here!”

The game was tied 1-1. They had two runners on base within striking range. It was the bottom of the ninth inning, and Debra and Kit had already struck out. If she struck out, it left them with a tie. Aiming for a single could be risky, since they could tag her out before Lizzie touched home plate. A double or better, and they had the game in the bag.

Dottie stepped up to the home plate. Their catcher was short and curvy, and her sun-streaked blonde hair poked out from under her face mask. She crouched into position, the umpire settling in respectfully behind her. “Two outs. Batter up!”

The Lukash bench started cheering Dottie’s name. Most of them stood up and started clapping their encouragement. Others stayed seated, too nervous to move.

“Play ball.”

Dottie got into position, falling into it as though it was second-nature to her. Her legs spread shoulder-width apart, knees bending slightly. She raised the bat and swung it a couple of times, getting a feel of the weight. Happy, she raised the long piece of wood.

“Right in here, Becky,” the catcher called from behind her.

Becky paused, determining which pitch she wanted to throw and how to proceed about executing it. Having made her decision, she stepped back into her pitching position. She swung her arm and released. Dottie felt her arms start to bring the bat down. She saw the ball begin to rise, and stopped herself before it completed its swinging motion just in time for the ball to slam into the back of the catcher’s glove with a resounding thud. 

“Ball,” the ump called.

Dottie watched as the ball sailed in the air from behind her. Becky, in her long black sleeves, caught it easily. There was something different in his stance this time, the way she shifted her shoulder to bring her arm around. When she let the ball loose, Dottie swung. The satisfying clap of wood hitting hard leather echoed through her ears. She dropped the bat and ran, watching as the ball flew towards the right outfield.

“That’s it, Dottie,” one of the men in the crowd bellowed. “You did it!”

Lizzie touched home plate, followed soon after by Karen. Dottie smiled as she rounded second and made her way towards third. She slowed her pace slightly as she came back towards home plate, the catcher standing from her crouch, mask off and looking put out.

“That’s the ball game,” the umpire announced. He started making his way off the field.

The Williamette crowd cheered and clapped for their girls’ softball team. As the opposing team filtered back to their bench, a small wave of Lukash Dairy uniforms made its way over to Dottie. “That was a swell hit,” Katherine praised, clapping Dottie on the back. “Good job!”

Dottie glanced around at all the smiling faces, grinning in response. Baseball – softball – had never been her thing like it had been Kit’s. She was always ready and willing to abandon her chores at home and run off with the boys in town to play. In fact, the only reason Dottie had taken up trying the game in the first place was to appease Kit’s urgings for her to “just try it”. She couldn’t say that she was hooked that first time she put on a glove or swung a bat, but the game had grown on her. And the people she played with throughout the years made it that much better, too.

Soon, however, Dottie noticed a lack of red. She quickly looked around for Kit. Her smile faded when she saw her walking away from the rest of the team, making her way along the fence towards the open exit, where the diamond and the area for the crowd to sit and stand was connected by a structured gap in the chain-link fencing, where a gate could have gone once upon a time. A similar opening was set up by the visiting team’s bench.

“Hey, Kit!” Kit looked up at the loud voice, noticing Mr. Trudeau grinning down at her like a shark, his stubby fingers clutching a cigar. “What are you swinging at those high ones for? Good thing your sister bailed you out.”

His booming laugh followed. Dottie frowned at the exchange. Cheering and jeering were a part of all sports, whether it was hockey, baseball, or football. But while she knew Kit could hold her own, she wished that her sister would be smarter when it came to picking her battles. Luckily, it seemed like the day had taken her usual fiery spirit out of her. Picking a fight with Mr. Trudeau would not have turned out very well, even if he wouldn’t have dared touch any of the girls in such a manner, especially in front of a crowd.

“Kit! Wait up, I’ll give you a ride!”

And then there was always Mitch Swaley to watch her back for her. While Dottie appreciated his efforts, she doubted Kit would reciprocate the same way. She pushed herself from the crowd, stating she needed to catch up with Kit and save her from Mitch’s attempts at wooing her. Besides, they had chores to do once they got back home.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time they had gotten changed out of their uniforms and showered, it was approaching late afternoon. The worst of the heat had passed, but only by a little. The sun still sizzled above, the sky vacant of any white fluffy clouds. If Dottie was being honest with herself, she preferred the warmth of spring and summer over the chill in the winter. The days were longer in the summer months, which gave you more time to do the things you wanted to do. In the winter, it was cold, with snow and ice and howling winds that nipped at your skin. You rarely wanted to venture outside, because there was only so much one could do in the winter months before the cold drove you inside. Sweating in a hundred-and ten-degree heat during the summer wasn’t always the most ideal, either, but one could also take a dip in the water and swim to cool down as well. 

Dottie held her mitt in her hand as she and Kit made their trek back home, walking easily along the dirt roads. As expected, Kit had refused Mitch’s offer for a ride home. Dottie had to give the man points for effort, though. And he took the rejection fairly well, with an easy smile and a tip of the hat, he was off. 

Rolling fields stretched as far as the eye could see, some left bare, others plowed and waiting for the seeds to take root and grow in the nutrient-rich soil. Every once in a while, a car would pass by them on the road, most likely someone heading into town or a farmer heading off to other ends of his property. Red, rumbling tractors would spew out black and grey smoke as they rolled through the fields, old men at the wheel, or boys old enough for the task, but too young to be drafted. All the older sons had gone halfway across the world.

A stone cut across Dottie’s path in front of her feet, skittering across the dirt and other stones strewn about. A small puff of dust collected underneath the sole of Kit’s shoe as they ambled along. She had her head down, hair free, hands in her pants pockets.

“Would you stop kicking the rocks?” Dottie asked, though there was no bite to her words. If anything, it was to cut through the awkward silence that hung heavy through the air ever since the game had ended.

“I’m sorry,” Kit sighed. She removed her hands from her pockets, raising them in front of her. “That game just made me so mad.”

Dottie looked over at her. “Kit, we won. Get mad if we lose.”

“That last pitch was right down the middle,” she continued, trying to justify her frustration to Dottie. Her gestures became wild in her haze. “If I’d have swung at that, I’d be the big hero. But you got me so crazy –”

“All I said was lay off the high ones,” Dottie defended, trying to keep her voice light.

She could never understand the animosity Kit held towards her at times. They were sisters. Sisters were supposed to be close and have each other’s backs. And yet, it seemed like Kit had always found ways to blame Dottie for something as they grew up, even if Dottie had no part in whatever had happened to get Kit so high-strung. Dottie did what was expected of her. She was the dutiful older sister, always watching out for Kit. She also helped her parents out on the farm when Kit wanted to run off and get dirty on the baseball diamond. Dottie’s future was set for her the moment she was born. Kit had no such restrictions.

Kit refused to look at Dottie, focusing on something off in one of the neighbouring fields. “’Good thing your sister bailed you out, Kit. Heh, heh.’” She mocked Mr. Trudeau, and Dottie fought hard not to smile at her sister’s antics, even if they were childish. What Trudeau had done was uncalled for.

“’Kit, why don’t you get your sister to teach you how to hit’?” she continued. Dottie almost scoffed at that one. Kit could hit the ball just fine, she just got impatient and overzealous. 

“’Kit, why can’t you be beautiful like that sister of yours’?” Her voice had taken on a wistful, airy tone to it, with an underlying layer of disappointment poking through.

Dottie whipped her head around to look over at Kit, shock washing over her angular features. She felt her mouth drop open at the mere thought of such a comment. “What idiot said that?” she demanded.

Kit quieted, slightly ducking her head. She glanced up at Dottie threw her lashes demurely. “No one,” she admitted begrudgingly. “But I know that’s what they were thinking!”

“No, it’s not!”

“No?” Kit questioned, eyebrows raising in sarcastic disbelief. “You ever hear Dad introduce us to people?”

Suddenly, Kit fashioned herself in an imitation of their aging father, David Keller. She relaxed her posture, leaning back ever so slightly that only anyone who knew their father well would pick up on it. She let her shoulders droop, a blank look creeping over her face. She rose her right hand as they walked, as though she was showing something off to an imaginary person that only she could see.

“’This is our daughter, Dottie. This is our other daughter, Dottie’s sister’.” Dottie rolled her eyes, looking forward. Suddenly, Kit reverted back to her usual self, spirits returning. “Should’ve just had you and bought a dog.”

“Mitch Swaley likes you,” Dottie argued, wanting to take the spotlight off of herself and direct it over to Kit.

Kit almost looked disgusted, scoffing slightly, and Dottie felt a small stab of pain for the lovestruck fool. “Mitch Swaley is one step up from dating pigs.”  
Dottie pointed at Kit with her free hand, smiling slightly in an effort to lighten the mood. “But an important step.”

Kit kicked another stone, watching as it crawled along the path, stopping just in time for them to catch up to its trajectory before kicking it again. Dottie tried to ignore it. “It’s not fair. I get guys like Mitch Swaley drooling after me, and you get people like Bob Hinson trying to sweep you off your feet.”

Dottie felt her chest constrict at Kit’s words, her breathing becoming shallower and faster. Bob Hinson was a few years older than she was, and his family owned a farm on the other side of town. Both of their families had dairy cows, but Bob’s family’s was much larger, and much more successful. While the Kellers liked their handful of Jersey dairy cows, the Hinsons’ Holsteins were often the go-to for milk products and production. She figured it was part of the reason why Bob had become assistant manager at the dairy so quickly, apart from his natural instincts in the industry. 

Bob wasn’t a bad man by any sense of the word. He was kind, smart, and perhaps a little too quiet at times, which some would find surprising when Dottie pointed it out to them if they bothered to ask. Dottie wasn’t known for being as loud as her sister, but when the time arose for her to be, she could spew smoke and fire just as easy as Kit could. And Dottie did like to bask in the silence from time to time, preferring to watch things unfold rather than just jump in, but it was almost awkward with Bob. But he was always quick to smile, and could find the good in almost everybody. He always ready with a compliment.

She and Bob had been close growing up, and lots of people thought that they would date and get married one day. Dottie didn’t think she could love Bob like one in a marriage was supposed to. She enjoyed his easy company, but it always felt like there was something missing. Being friends with Bob came naturally, but trying to find a romantic attraction to him was a struggle. He had asked her on a date once, she thought back ruefully. She had shot him down as nicely as she could, and he took it as easy as he did with his cows. Only a few mere weeks later, he told her that he had been drafted. He was off to Europe. She almost told him she’d go out with right there from the guilt that manifested within her.

Taking a steadying breath, Dottie slightly shook her head, strawberry-blonde waves framing her face. “You know things aren’t like that between me and Bob. We’re just friends.”

Kit looked at her. “You two could have become something.”

Dottie paused before looking away, watching Mr. Mercer stroll along on his tractor, plowing the dark soil. “I don’t think so,” she said quietly. She blinked and looked back over at Kit, nudging her on the shoulder. “Besides, some may say the same about you and Mitch Swaley.”

Kit knew she was teasing her, but her face scrunched up all the same, blue eyes pronouncing each and every splatter of light freckles on her face. Dottie thought it added to Kit’s beauty. They had the same femininely-angled features, but where Kid had been graced by their mother’s vibrant hair, Dottie had garnered more of their father’s shade. And whereas they were both slim and fit from years of playing baseball and doing chores around the farm, Dottie had more height on Kit. She would tease her about it growing up, but she remembered how awkward she felt when she was younger; like a newborn foal trying to figure out how to walk on their spindly legs.

Kit quickened her pace so that she was just slightly in front of Dottie. Dottie blinked. “Why are you walking so fast?”

Dottie lengthened her stride to catch up to her. Kit was in a better mood than she had been earlier during their walk home, but like always, she still had energy and anger to burn. A deadly combination to have when facing Kit Keller.

Kit shot her a look. “Why are you?”

“I don’t know,” Dottie replied, shrugging. “Because you are.”

“Can’t even let me walk faster than you.”

Dottie struggled not to sigh. Everything was always a competition with Kit. Instead, she gestured forward. “Sure,” she encouraged.

Satisfied, Kit strode forward briskly, taking several fast, reaching steps to pull ahead. But the opportunity to get on Kit’s nerves, as frazzled as they already were, was too good of a chance to pass up. Besides, she needed to blow off some steam. Smiling to herself, Dottie used the extra height she had on Kit to catch up to her. She peeked over at Kit to see her glaring at her. Their fast pace led them onto their father’s property and took them past the old barn. The paint had chipped away years ago from all the abuse the building had endured throughout the years. It had been erected when their father had just been a young boy, the wood a deep shade of red. Now, the wood was a weathered grey in colour. The black Ford pickup sat out in front of the barn’s open doors. It was the family’s only vehicle and means of transportation. However, it was used more for jobs concerning the farm than for weekend joyrides.

To their left sat the farmhouse. The siding was white, the shutters a faded green in colour. There, their mother Georgia Keller stood by the clothesline, a basket at her feet. She grabbed a large white sheet from the basket and waved it about several times, arms raised as high as they could go to prevent the freshly cleaned linen from touching the ground. She folded it in half as Dottie and Kit approached. Max, the old family dog, paid them no mind. 

“Girls, you got chores to do,” their mother called out, catching sight of them as they passed her, making their way to the back of the house.

Almost simultaneously, Dottie and Kit turned their heads to observe one another. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, they both started running. Dottie smiled. Kit’s face was a mask of determination. They ran around the corner of the house, the sight of the milking barn coming into view.

“Don’t run! You’ll scare the chickens!”

Dottie’s longer strides carried her past Kit, and she turned to glance back at her trailing sister. “I don’t have time for these games.”

“Why are you running?” Kit challenged. Her arms pumped at her sides.

“Come on, you can run faster than that.”

“Not fair,” Kit called after her. “Your legs are longer.”

The grass that surrounded the house started to gradually fade away into dirt. Too much traffic from feet, tires, and hooves alike didn’t allow for it to grow it would have had it been left alone year-round. In the middle of the clearing, the chickens stood, clucking and pecking along the dirt, looking for food or crushed stones to eat. They flapped their wings in irritation, some feathers flying around them, as Dottie and Kit ran through the flock, careful not to step on any of the livestock.

“I win!” Dottie rejoiced, teasing. They slowed to a walk as they approached the barn doors.

“Barely,” Kit mumbled.

They shared a friendly glance as they made their way over to where the gear for milking was. Kit smiled hesitantly before she slipped her shoes off and pulled on her rubber boots. Then, she took her apron off the hook it hung from and slipped it on over her head. Dottie set her glove off to the side and grabbed her own workwear. It smelt like cows, hay, and dust. Her thin fingers fumbled with the strings behind her back briefly. Once the knot was secure, she and Kit grabbed several lead ropes and made their way out of the barn and towards the field where their father’s Jersey cows sat, content to graze away the day.

Once the four cows were tied up in their respectful stalls, munching away on the hay provided, Dottie grabbed a pail and stool, settling beside the cow’s udders and placing the metal bucket underneath to catch the milk. Kit followed suit with one of the other cows, a sweet little thing named Fiona. They set about the process of milking the bovines, a practice that they had learned to perfect years ago from their father.

Dottie didn’t mind milking cows too much. It was a job that somebody had to do, especially seeing as how their father wasn’t as young and nimble and he used to be. She had long ago come to terms that this was what she would be doing as she grew up. It wasn’t fun or extravagant by any means – especially the flies – but it gave her something to do when her and Kit weren’t in town playing ball. There were many occasions when Dottie wished she could have been doing anything else, but it just wasn’t in her cards. She was expected to do as she was told, and milking and raising cows was something her parents – and once upon a time, Bob – had planned on her doing for the rest of her life. It was then that she envied Kit.

She was so engrossed in the task at hand, that Dottie failed to notice the man walk through the barn. 

“Hey.”

She looked up and past Rosie’s light brown rump. He wasn’t very tall, and he stood out like a sore thumb in his nice suit compared to the dusty, rustic environment. His face was round, black hair slicked back and receding, dark moustache well-groomed as it rested above his upper lip. The suit was an expensive-looking light grey in colour, the pink and grey checker-patterned tie accentuating the businessman look. The fedora he held in his hand topped everything off, like a cherry on top of a sundae. 

“Hey, yourself,” Dottie greeted, brow furrowing slightly in confusion. A man dressed like this one never came by the farms. Not for anything good, anyway. In fact, men like him very rarely ever left town. And Dottie had never seen him before.

The man wrinkled his nose, eyes narrowing. Distaste was palpable on his face. “Doesn’t that hurt them?”

Dottie followed his gaze down to where she was milking Rose, and then looked back up at him. City-folk. “Doesn’t seem to.”

“It would bruise the hell out of me.”

His voice held a midwestern accent and was fairly high-pitched and almost nasally. Overall, it was an unpleasant sound to Dottie’s ears. That, and the conversation they were currently having.

“Who are you?” she asked, trying to change the topic of conversation. Poor Rosie probably didn’t want to hear it either, even if she was a cow.

Suddenly the man stood up straight, face smoothing over. Now, he held himself like he was someone important. For all Dottie knew, maybe he was. A small part of her doubted it, though.

“I’m Ernie Capadino,” he introduced. “I’m a baseball scout. I saw you playing today. Not bad, not bad. Ever hear of Walter Harvey? Makes Harvey Bars? You know, the candy?”

Ernie spewed his questions off in quick succession, hardly taking a break in between to give them a chance to answer. Dottie figured that the man liked to hear himself talk. The way he talked about the Harvey Bars also gave her the impression that he assumed they’d never heard of such a thing with their simple country living.

“Yeah, we feed them to the cows when they’re constipated,” she shot back good-naturedly, standing. What was a baseball scout talking to them for? She had thought baseball was going to be ending until the war was finished. So many had gone overseas to fight, and even professional baseball players weren’t exempt from being called up.

“That’s the guy.” Ernie’s voice took on a sarcastic tone, sounding unimpressed. “He’s starting a girls’ baseball league so we can make a buck while the boys are overseas. Wanna play?”

Her eyes widened in surprise. That hadn’t been what she expected to hear. Her heart hammered against her chest. Adrenaline pumped through her veins. She could practically feel Kit soaking up the conversation from behind her. “Huh?”

“Nice retort.” Was it possible for the portly man to get even more sarcastic with so few words? “Tryouts are in Chicago. It’s a real league, professional.”

“Professional baseball?”

Dottie turned her head to look behind her. Kit had stood up excitedly and was leaning against Fiona. Her mouth was pulled into a grin, wonder lighting up her face.

Ernie hummed in agreement. “They’ll pay you seventy-five dollars a week.”

Dottie looked down. She enjoyed the game, she really did, but to get up and leave everything she knew behind? She wasn’t like Kit. Kit lived and breathed baseball. Dottie did it as a fun recreational activity when they weren’t doing chores at home or working at Lukash. It was Kit who wanted to get out and see the world, not her. She was the one who had to stay put, get married.

A few quick steps and Kit planted herself beside Dottie. She looked up at her sister’s excited voice, stating, “We only make thirty at the dairy.”

“Well, then, this would be more, wouldn’t it?” Ernie prompted. “You interested?”

Dottie grabbed her bucket of milk and began pouring its contents into the milk canister, trying to delay her response. Kit looked back and forth between her and Ernie. She swallowed down the tiny part of her that wanted to say yes. 

“Come on. Seventy-five dollars a week?” She looked up, putting the bucket down. She gestured to Kit. “Pull her leg for a while. Mine are long enough already.”  
It was true enough. Kit was a good ballplayer. She would probably make it. And it was the break her sister had been looking for, she was sure of it. Maybe if he took Kit it could make up for how sour her mood had been after the game.

She walked over to the head of Rosie to untie her lead rope. Kit stepped forward so she stood behind the Jersey cow’s rear end.

“Look, your country needs you,” Ernie told her, watching her every move. “And you can not only play ball, but you’re kind of a dolly that we’re looking for.”

Dottie’s head shot up at the remark. She was not joining a baseball league just so men could pay to ogle at her. Especially not men like Ernia Capadino. “Oh, now I get it. Listen, mister, just because I’m not a married woman does not mean that I would be willing to have you make a profit off of me and other girls just because of our looks. Maybe you’re in the wrong industry.”

She slowly started turning Rosie around, the cow throwing her head a bit. Kit’s face had pulled down into a slight frown, watching Ernie. She pushed against Rosie’s rump, assisting her in turning around in the stall. Dottie refused to look at the man as she walked Rosie out of the barn to tie her up out there so she and Kit could finish milking.

“Oh, relax!” Ernie called out. “I’m talking lookie, no touchie. It’s just that we want girls who are easy on the eye.”

Admittedly, Dottie could understand why. Mainly men watched baseball, which is who brought in the money. And men liked good-looking women. Still, though, it didn’t mean that she had to like it.

“I’ll go,” Kit told him. “I’m ready, I’m ready right now. I gotta sign something?”

After making sure Rosie was tied securely to the side of the barn, she walked back inside. Kit stood before Ernie expectantly. When Kit put her mind to something, she was ready to go at the drop of a hat.

“I don’t want you! I want her!” For the first time, he had raised his voice. He pointed at Dottie. “The one who actually hit the ball. You can climb back under the cow.”

Dottie saw Kit flinch at Ernie’s tone, but mostly at his words. Trying not to let it show just how much his words had hurt her, Kit frowned and turned on her heel. She stormed back off to where Fiona stood.

“She’s good,” Dottie protested, defending Kit. “She’s very good. She’s a pitcher. She just didn’t pitch today because she pitched the day before.”

“Well, thanks for that special glimpse into her life. I want you. You I saw, you I like. Now what do you say? There’s a train leaving for Chicago tomorrow. What do you say? Are you in?”

Dottie set her jaw. The gal of Ernie Capadino was astounding, truly. She was flattered that the scout thought she would be good enough to play professional baseball, but after how he had treated Kit? She turned away.

“No, thanks,” she said.

Kit stood back up from her stool, walking over to her. “Dottie.”

She could see the look Kit gave her. It was one that was told her to take it. Jump at the opportunity. Take the offer. Kit’s determined expression told her that she wasn’t as fazed by Ernie’s comments as she thought she was.

“'No, thanks'?” Ernie parroted back at her. His lip curled. “Hey, no skin off my Ashtabula. You wanna stay here plucking cows, that’s your business.”

Dottie stepped forward. Kit may have been okay, but he still had no right to come to their farm and make demands of them. “You know something? You’re not nice.”

She put her hands on her hips to emphasize her point. And to also cover up the fact that the comment sounded weak, even to her own ears. But she had never been an argumentative or confrontational person, either. Ernie didn’t even bat an eye.

“That one hurt. So long, milkmaids.”

With that, Ernie turned towards the barn door and walked out, placing his grey fedora atop his dark hair. Kit glared at Dottie and then chased after the retreating scout. Dottie stared after her for several moments before she turned back to continue on with their chores.

“No, wait!” Kit’s voice yelled out across the yard. “Can’t you just watch me pitch? Dottie, get your mitt! I’ll throw him a few. I’ll show you some pitches—”

“No,” Ernie emphasized. “No, no, no.”

Dottie could hear the soft rumblings of their words through the opened windows and doors from inside the barn, but couldn’t make out the words. She really hoped he would give Kit a chance to play. It was the one thing she wanted more than anything else. Dottie may have been handed the job of a “milkmaid”, but Kit had decided the go out and choose her own destiny. She couldn’t fault her for that.

Rosie let out a loud moo, followed by Ernie’s sharp yell. “Will you shut up?!”

Dottie peeked out the window, her curiosity getting the best of her. Ernie had a hand resting on Kit’s arm. They both looked towards the window. She ducked her head back down as Ernie’s dark eyes made contact with her.

“Get these wild animals away from me!”

That she couldn’t ignore. Setting the milk pail down, she poked her out of the window. Ernie was walking away, his back to her and Kit. He kicked out at the chickens, but didn’t make contact with any of them. They clucked and hopped away from him, but otherwise barely paid him any mind. “Haven’t you ever heard of a leash?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't leave it alone. Don't know when the next chapter will be out though, have a lot of school stuff coming up soon

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who takes the time to read this! This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction, and I just had to write in this small fandom because I had just recently watched A League of Their Own for the first time in years. The chemistry between Jimmy and Dottie is hard to ignore, and I wanted to explore how the story could have gone if they had kept the original plot line and Dottie wasn't married to Bob. Feel free to comment and leave some constructive criticism!


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